Perfect
by Kimi-sama
Summary: SLASH DMHP And for the first time since that moment in the robe shop six years ago you really look at him. He is black yarn and ripped seams and patches of mismatched clothe. And you realize he’s still perfect.
1. Default Chapter

You met him on the fitting stools in Madam Malkins Robes For All Occasions when you were eleven years old and thought he was perfect. Not what your father said was perfect. (Clean, sharp and cutting) What he was molding you to be. (A perfect porcelain doll with soft white hair, painted lips and cold blue eyes.) But perfect because he wasn't like you. (A patched doll with ragged black yarn for hair, green buttons for eyes, and crumpled wire painstakingly straightened for glasses. His seems are uneven and overlapping and a bit of stuffing escapes from a rip in his forehead.) And now that you look back, it doesn't make sense, but does it really matter?  
  
You see this perfectly patched boy stand next to you and you think he's different and that you want to be his friend. Your other friends, the ones your father invites over and watches you play with and makes sure you act like a Malfoy around, are boring. (Empty eyed china dolls that sit and play tea and lift their hands to drink when their Daddy's say so because they're good little playthings, just like you.)  
  
You find out his name is Harry (ordinary, unremarkable, perfect) and you try to impress him and he begins to frown. (stitched mouth curves down and down and down) When he leaves you are sad because you get the feeling he doesn't like you very much. (Maybe yarn dolls don't drink the same tea porcelain do?) Your father endures your questions about boy for the rest of the day.  
  
You meet him again on the train to Hogwarts and his full name is Harry Potter. (A crooked seam seals in the bit of stuffing.) You remember what your father said about him (murderer, urchin, mudblood!*) but he's still perfect and Father doesn't have to know.  
  
But Father won't have anything to know because you were right when you thought he didn't like you. He's already got a friend, (Not yarn like himself, but old porcelain that's chipped from use and had bits replaced from other dolls, the hair fallen out long ago and painted back on bright red, the nose broken off and replace with one from a bigger doll. Scratched blue eye's watch you jealously from a smudged face.) a Weasley, and he doesn't want you to be his next.  
  
And that's when you decide that maybe you don't want to be friends with him after all. You never did. You hated him from the moment you met him. You'll make his life hell. Father will be proud the next time he sees you. He'll smile and say "Well done." ('Drink now' says Daddy and up goes your arm. It leaves a bitter taste on your china tongue.)  
  
Only he never does.  
  
And six years later your Lord (his lord, not yours yet, but does it matter?) has risen and makes war. You have mainly stopped making fun of Harry. You've realized Father will never tell you well done and only a Snape can hold a grudge for more than a couple of years.  
  
You bump into him in the hallway and send his books flying. You do it a lot, neither of you ever looks where you're going and he's always rushing somewhere. You've never apologized before and you don't do so now, he doesn't expect you to, but you step back and for the first time since that moment in the robe shop six years ago you really look at him. ( He is black yarn and ripped seams and patches of mismatched clothe.) And you realize he's still perfect.  
  
And here is where you have a choice.  
  
----------------------  
  
*Lucious calls Harry a mudblood because of his mom's a muggleborn.  
  
Alright, this is the first of a four chapter thing. It's been sitting on my computer for a while and I'm hoping that by posting this it'll give me the kick in the ass I need to finish it. The whole thing is kind of a 'what if?' that was inspired by Lady Vader's Friend Like Me. Basically the next three chapters are three thing Draco could have done after this point. I'm not really sure why I added those things in the parenthesis and there are a couple of paragraphs I'm not too happy with but I can't really see a way to fix it.  
  
Be gentle when reviewing please. 


	2. Spoiled

You could walk by him like you usually do, but instead of going to your next class you head to your dorm and the relative safety and comfort of your bed. (Cold and quiet, it reminds you of home.) You sit and think most of the day (of china tea sets and green button eyes and crumpled wire frame glasses) and come to realize you want him. You want his warmth and undivided attention. (so spoiled) You decide to get it.  
  
Over the next month you become more antagonistic than ever. Your parents would recognize it for what it was, a tantrum, but everyone else just thinks you're an ass. (Scream and shriek and watch as they draw away.) Even Crabbe and Goyle begin to avoid you.  
  
The Dream Team takes on a new tactic in dealing with you. Apathy. It doesn't really work with Weasely (scratched blue eyes flash) whose red hair always gets the best of him. Weasely isn't the one you want to pay attention to you however and you're confused by Harry's lack of reaction. (Green buttons look through you.) Mother and Father always pay attention to you when you act like that.  
  
You sink into depression and it makes you more irritable. The last of your friends drift away. By the end of the year you are willing to do anything to make him acknowledge your existence. (So alone. Tea isn't any fun by yourself but are you really playing tea anymore? You stopped hearing Daddy's voice a long time ago and you're so lost without it guiding you.)  
  
Late that night you close your curtains one final time. (Your clay skin cracks and shatters beneath your knife.) They find your body the next morning when you miss breakfast. You arms curled into your chest and blood caked to the sheets. You left no note. The announcement goes out over lunch and many are impassive to your demise. Harry Potter may or may not be glad about your death but you have his attention and that's what you wanted. (Come and play with me ragged little doll.)  
  
Too bad you aren't alive to care.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
And there's the second one. I have almost finished the next chapter but this could be finished here in case I never get done with the next one. 


	3. Grasped With Both Hands

Or you might stay standing there, stunned by the idea that you don't hate him. That you never did. He's perfect (smudged, crooked, flawless) and you've always been taught to covet perfect things. Puzzled by your continuing presence he glances up at you. You take a deep breath.  
  
"Sorry." You say. ("Drink." Says Daddy but your immaculate china arms don't move.)  
  
You bend down to help him collect his books and turn you face away from his incredulous look. (Glass fingers used to holding empty glass cups fumble with the concrete material.) When all his books are gathered you both stand uncomfortably in the corridor.  
  
"Um...Thanks." He mumbles looking anywhere but you. (He clutches the heavy material to his chest as though it weighed nothing, but if you'd had carried such a burden for years wouldn't you have stopped noticing it's weight after a while too?) You walk away without another word. If you act any nicer to him tonight he might have a heart attack.  
  
The next day you nod to him as you pass him in the halls. It sends his friends into a flurry of whispers. You can tell he'd convinced himself that yesterday hadn't really happened by the way his eye's widen. (Green buttons grow and grow and you drown and drown.) He gets this look on his face like 'Oh my god, I'm going insane.' And then Granger (Not yarn or porcelain, but twigs. A stick doll with ridged arms and legs and a spray of splinters for hair.) begins to question him and the look changes to 'Oh God, kill me now.' People wonder if you're sick but you nod again the next day and the next and the next, until no one notices, until no one cares, until he begins to nod back.  
  
Soon after you approach him for help in transfiguration. You could pass on your own but your grades are bad enough to be convincing. Your talent lies with potions and McGonnagall, like Snape, favors her house. You make sure you are the only two people in the library so it looks as though you were forced to come to him and you scowl appropriately while grumbling for help in a roundabout way. It's not entirely an act. It galls you that you have to pretend to need help to speak with him. ("If you need help you have already failed." Daddy's voice echoes in you ears.)  
  
Ever the good Griffyndor, he eventually gives in and tutors you, secretly of course. It takes him two weeks before he stops taking offence to everything you say and another week before he begins to laugh. (Oh how those green buttons shine!) You hadn't meant to be funny, but once he starts laughing you suddenly find yourself trying to make him laugh.  
  
Your grades in Transfiguration go up much to your chagrin and soon Christmas comes around. You make sure to look extra forlorn and lonely all by yourself at the Slytherin table and it's not even a day before Harry comes to sit with you. Granger and Weasley trail reluctantly behind, not willing to him leave alone with the Slytherins. You have Granger charmed within two days, Weasley in four. (You cradle them so carefully in your fragile glass hands.) And when everybody comes back from break they know you hang out with them.  
  
Your old playmates (Those fragile porcelain dolls you drank tea with not too long ago.) ask you why and threaten you and then, when you still refuse to leave Harry, owl your father. He sends a cold note that says in no uncertain terms you will stop being friends with Harry or there will be consequences. You take the letter directly to the Headmaster. (Daddy can scream and shout and you will never listen ever again.)  
  
The Headmaster promptly gives you his protection and soon the whole school knows of your betrayal. You manage to make it through the year (Your delicate friend throw stones meant to shatter you but your rag doll protects you. Stone doesn't break wool.) Both you and Harry stay at Hogwarts over the summer. He's getting special training and you've got nowhere else to go.  
  
Harry kisses you the first time at the end of June. (A child's soft peck on the lips. His bent wire glasses click softly as they hit your pale porcelain nose.) You don't speak to each other again for three days. On the end of the third day you corner him in his common room, and when he tries to sneak away you capture his lips with yours. (Not a child's sweet kiss. You're glass fingers dig into his black yarn hair.)  
  
It's an entirely new way to monopolize Harry's attention and it works so much better than anything you've tried before. You grab the chance with both hands (Porcelain hands threaten to shatter from the force of it.) and refuse to let go. Harry is yours and no one else's.  
  
Your seventh year comes and goes. Harry wakes screaming from a dream one night and he makes to leave his bed to tell the Headmaster of it but you pull him back and distract him. The now permanent silencing charm blocks out both his nightmare induced screams and the sounds you coax from him afterwards. Voldemort razes the Ministry of Magic to the ground the next day. You hold Harry through his guilt.  
  
And as you graduate it is all too easy to convince Harry to leave the wizarding world with you. He loves you and, having been deprived of love (Cold closets and colder words are a poor substitute for a patched doll who thrives on warmth.) most of his life, holds on to it almost as tightly as you grasp at him.  
  
You convince him to cut off all communication to the wizarding world and it's not that hard. He has grown distant from Hermione and Ron in the last year. (Shiny new porcelain is so much more interesting than bundles of sticks or cracked and broken china dolls.) Your last missive from them tells you that Voldemort is moving quickly. One by one all the wizarding strongholds are falling. But Harry still stays by your side. Even as the magical world burns to ashes behind you, you still wake every morning with Harry sleeping next to you. Even as his eye's dull and the guilt of leaving his friends behind to die begins to kill him (Shiny green buttons grow chipped and faded and his clumsy stitching begin to unravel no matter how many frozen glass kisses bestowed upon his tattered forehead.) he stay's with you.  
  
He is your perfect, tattered boy and no one else can have him, ever.  
  
------------------------ 


	4. Kiss Kiss

And then you could hear Blaise, who has been calling your name for several moments, and step quietly around Harry who is collecting his scattered materials. You finish the day as though everything is normal ( As though you'd never seen a perfect ragged doll in a robe shop and you have never looked twice at Harry in the hall.) and then a week passes and then months and no one is the wiser to your revelation.  
  
You graduate as one of the top of your year. Below the mudblood (No amount of shiny awards can disguise the fact she is made of dirty twigs.) but above Potter. Within days or your return to home (A cold glass doll house where the walls have eye's and ears that are turned not only on guests but other family members as well.) you are taken to the Dark Lord whose blood- red eye's feel foul and rotten on your skin. And afterwards (When your immaculate porcelain arms are no longer unblemished.) you take a shower and scrub your skin until it is red and raw (paint cracks and threatens to chip.) and still you can't get that horrible feeling off of you.  
  
You attend your first real Death Eater meeting shortly after. Albus Dumbledor (Not sticks or rags but muggle candy, a jawbreaker, sweet and wonderful on the outside but capable of breaking your teeth.) is puzzled when he receives an anonymous letter. It details all the happenings at the most recent gathering of the Lords minions. He doesn't know whether to trust this information but when the events predicted come true only weeks later and the letters keep coming he begins to act on them. Many lives are saved because of the letters you send him. Severus can only gather so much information now that the Dark Lord knows he is a spy and you have been automatically promoted almost all the way into the Lords inner circle because of your father. (And Daddy is so proud of you that you almost let him take up your strings again. You've always wanted his approval and he most certainly wouldn't approve of your betrayal.)  
  
Dumbledor tries to find out who his new informant is, you know because you can detect the spells he's tried to place on your owls each time they return. You have carefully protected yourself however. You do not wish to go the way of Snape. (rotting, rotting away in dark dungeons bitter and angry and a slave to the candy man. Striving away for atonement for the rest of your unhappy life.) And should your lord win there will be no evidence of your duplicity.  
  
Your information is used wisely however, and slowly the Lords minions are hunted down and captured during raids until only you, the Dark Lord, and a few others are left. You are captured on the next raid. They take you to Azkaban and fill you so full of veritaserum you think you will overflow with it. They interrogate you until your mind feels torn to pieces and never do they find out that you are the one who sends the letters. (They spit in your pretty china face and never ask you if you know who the spy is.) It never occurred to you what would happen at the end of the war when no one knew of your actions. Covering yourself from Voldemorts searching eye's was always so much more important.  
  
Your sentence is passed quickly; you are to be Kissed by one of the Dementors that have defected back to the side of Light. When the day finally comes you have given up screaming that you are the anonymous author. The dementors lips are cold (like death) as they close over yours. (your pretty painted lips crack and break) You are proud in your last moments as a conscience being. You did not wet yourself nor did you cry or struggle, save for one single involuntary convulsion as the dementor rip's your soul from your body.  
  
You think Harry (patched, ragged perfect little doll, it was all for you) might have been impressed by your blasé attitude had he been there to watch, and then you don't think at all. (Tap, tap, tap on your pretty china skull. Hear how that hollow glass rings!)  
  
Harry wins the war several months later and in the aftermath they find the next letter you were to send Dumbledor in your room. The ministry keeps the revelation quiet. It would be shameful for the public to realize what had been done to one of their key allies in the war, but they take your body from Azkaban and move it to a nice room in St. Mungo's, where you will stay for the rest of your life. (Your white china arms would disappear on the sterile white sheets but for the black mark etched into the varnish.)  
  
And one day Harry shows up to visit your unresponsive body. His friends in the ministry spoke to him of your letters. He speaks to you and from his mouth tumble words that might have been forgiveness or love or anger but you are as good as dead.  
  
So you will never know.  
  
------------------  
  
I know I said this would be that last chapter but I need closure so there will be a new chapter coming up at some point. I think I dragged this one on too long. It should have ended right when Draco got the kiss but I couldn't think of a good way to end it there. Oh well. 


	5. How It Ends

You could do any of these things.  
  
You teeter on the brink for a moment, a mere electrical impulse away from doing a hundred actions. The myriad possibilities flicker across your mind for an instant and then Harry glances up at you (Oh perfect tattered doll!) and the look isn't curiosity or puzzlement but equal parts wariness and burning dislike (And, oh, in the right light you might have taken that look for passion instead of hatred!) The look jolts you (he has rejected you again, and this time before you even thought you could extend you fragile glass hand in friendship.) and you blink and the world falls back into it's proper place.  
  
Harry Potter is a loathsome mugglelover and you will not sully your presence with his company. You tell yourself this as you graduate, and then as the Dark Mark is burned into your arm. You tell it to yourself each time you see Harry in battle, but the sounds of shouted spells drown it out and there is only Harry (perfect Harry) resplendent in his power and rage. Sometimes he spots you and your breath catches, because when he recognizes you his eyes burn with hatred and you can not help but hate him back. (If only to protect your brittle psyche because you simply couldn't stand to worship/revere/admire/love someone who hated you.)  
  
The battle is always over before you can face him but you have plenty of chances to inflict wounds great and small on him. Without you spying for the Light side the war progresses slowly and casualties are heavy for both sides. You have the pleasure of torturing and killing the mudblood. (The girl made of sticks screamed and cried and eventually burned to ash.) But ever so slowly, your Lord is pushed back and his followers are captured or killed one by one.  
  
Twelve years after your graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the Death Eaters raid Hogsmead. Harry is there and you stand for a moment drinking in his hatred,(you fear his wire glasses will melt with the heat of it) letting it feed your own.  
  
And then Harry kills you. It's as simple as that.  
  
You shouldn't have underestimated him. Somehow you thought he would always be the kind Gryffindor who would wait for you to strike first before striking back. But the war had changed him (or maybe he'd always been that way) and he didn't wait and while you were still preparing he struck you down with a simple 'Avada Kedavra'. You had just enough time to be surprised at how very Slytherin his attack was before the green light reached you. (And isn't it ironic that your little ragged doll had to become what he hated to win?)  
  
Your body is taken to Malfoy Manor. You are buried on the grounds next to Pansy, your wife who had been killed only a year earlier, while your Manor was seized and searched. And your beautiful five year old daughter (All pale porcelain and pretty painted lips. She's never had a tea party.) is taken away to be adopted and never know she is the last of the ancient and noble Malfoy line. If you could see her happy face in years to come (so unlike you ever were) you might think she is better off not knowing who she was, but more likely she would simply be a disgrace to the Malfoy name.  
  
And this is where you end. A footnote at the bottom of a Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, forgotten by all except the one who hates you. The only person your ever thought was perfect.  
  
(He is black yarn hair, and crumpled wire frame glasses and patches of mismatched clothe all stitched together by a clumsy, loving hand.)  
  
He will always hold a place for you in his heart Draco Malfoy, and even if it's not the spot you wanted you're there all the same.  
  
And that will have to suffice.  
  
------------------  
  
THE END  
  
That's it. My God, I've actually finished something. I'm actually not very happy with this chapter at all but this was kind of a last minute thing. I needed something to tell me "It's done. Quit thinking about it already." And this was it. I had problems ending it.  
  
I'm really sorry to anybody who wanted a happy ending. I'm incapable of giving anything Harry Potter related a happy ending. This is where all my angst goes I think.  
  
I think for that for my next ficlet I'm going to do a drabble-thing that focuses solely on Harry. I haven't seen a good one-chapter harry angst fest for a while. It'll be in the future and he's going to be dead. I have a thing about killing people off. I love to do it.  
  
Yeah, anyway, tell me what you think.  
  
Revised 3-27-04  
  
Changed a bit here and there, mostly at the part where it's talking about Malfoy seeing Harry in battle. I also changed bits in chapter 3 and 2 as well. 


End file.
